


Should Auld Acquaintance Be So Hot

by mizzmarvel



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 10:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16931856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizzmarvel/pseuds/mizzmarvel
Summary: Byron is fully expecting to end his stressful year all alone on New Year's Eve, but then Jeff Schafer shows up at the front door, way too attractive and looking for company. Surprise, this development is also stressful!





	Should Auld Acquaintance Be So Hot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxxcub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/gifts).



On New Year’s Eve, the clock on the DVR in the family room clicked silently to 11 PM, but for the first time in weeks, there was no fight over what show to watch next, no debating whose turn it was to take the dog out for his last pee break of the night, no youngest child whining about still having a bedtime, no rehashing of ancient annoyances and petty grudges.

Instead, it was the rarest of rare occasions in the Pike household: it was _quiet_ , and I had the place all to myself.

Well, almost. Next to me, sprawled out on the couch but pressing the crown of his head into my outer thigh, was Pow, our ancient basset hound. His snores broke the silence in a big way, and it was basically impossible to fully escape the weird cornchip smell of his paws, but at least he was company. 

Because having the house to myself? Wasn’t actually my choice. 

It was my first New Year’s Eve as a grown adult—well, as much as you can be in college, with your mom and dad still sending care packages—and I was alone. Everyone else in the family had plans: party invites, sleepovers with friends, and in the case of Jordan and Adam, a double-date with a pair of sisters that didn’t leave much room for an awkward and very gay fifth wheel. Even our parents had more going on than me socially, and if that wasn’t pathetic, I didn’t know what was.

The past year—high school graduation, starting college at Dartmouth, trying to make new friends on my own for the first time, and ugh, the nightmare of figuring out dating—had been kind of a nightmare for my anxiety. I definitely didn’t want a repeat of that, but if the upcoming year went as badly as the first few hours of it were going to, that wasn’t a good sign.

“Pow, am I going to have to kiss you at midnight?” I murmured, and scratched behind one of his long, silky ears. His snoring paused just for a moment before he grunted dismissively and fell back asleep.

Okay, maybe _that_ was what pathetic was.

I sighed and tipped by head back to rest against the couch cushion. The thought of watching _New Year’s Rockin’ Eve_ or some other forced-cheer holiday showed depressed me, and I couldn’t muster the enthusiasm to do anything else either. Maybe it was time to just call it a night, take a shower, and—

The doorbell rang.

I jumped a little, startled, and jostled Pow’s head, but he just rolled with it like a wave; his days of racing across the house to bark at the door were long over. So I went to the front hall alone and peered through the peephole. On the porch, averting his eyes politely and achingly handsome even with the slight distortion of the glass, was Jeff Schafer. 

“Who is it?” I called out, partly to tease him, and partly to buy time to mellow my weird burst of panic. I’d been friends Jeff since we were nine years old; there was nothing to be concerned about. But I’d been so sure he would’ve already had plans to have fun with an actual fun person (I had no delusions about myself) that I hadn’t even considered asking if he wanted to hang out tonight.

I mean, I was standing there in my socks, lounge pants, and plain navy long-sleeve shirt, while he was out there looking model-ready in gray jeans, a cream-colored peacoat that made his swimmer’s shoulders look even more broad, and most bafflingly, a tan. Even his college—University of California, Santa Cruz, Home of the Banana Slugs—was cooler than mine—Dartmouth College, Home of the Dartmouth Big Green (what does that even mean?). He could’ve gone anywhere tonight and the doors would have been thrown open in welcome.

I could see his easy smile and the puff of white breath in the cold night air as he laughed. “It’s me, your dream come true.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to not think too hard on that as I unlocked and threw open the door. “Hi, Jeff.”

Holding the door open for him, I stepped aside for him to come in and warm up, which I knew he was dying to do. His thin Californian blood had never truly adapted to Connecticut winters. Jeff shook himself, exaggerating his shivers, but his cheeks were already blooming pink from the sudden heat.

“Happy…” But his big, exuberant greeting dwindled and died on the vine as he cocked his head, frowning a little. 

“If this is charades, I think I already know the answer.”

He ignored that and said, “I’ve never been here when the noise wasn’t at least eighty decibels.” His eyebrows shot up. “Byron, if you’ve got a bloody axe behind the door and everyone else is piled up in the dining room, please tell me now so I can start smiling and backing away slowly.”

“Gross, no.” I leaned against the door jamb and crossed my arms. “That’s what the basement’s for.” Jeff chuckled, and I looked down at his clavicle to avoid noticing the way laughing made his eyes crinkle up. “Nah, everyone’s just out celebrating, and I’m celebrating getting to hear myself think for once.”

“Oh, okay.” He swung his backpack around to the front, unzipped it, and pulled out the neck of a bottle. I couldn’t see the label, but I had a feeling it wasn’t grape juice. “Then I guess I don’t need to hide this.”

“Whoa, did you go to Stamford or something?” Alcohol was sold in Stoneybrook, of course, but it was notoriously hard to successfully use a fake ID in a town where everyone seemed to at least vaguely know everyone else. High school had felt like one never-ending quest to successfully party.

“Nope. Stole it from my stepsister’s room.” Grinning broadly, Jeff pulled the bottle all the way out, and now I could see it in all its glory—bubbly and bright pink, with a flowery label that read _Love and Lollipops Sparkling Rosé_. “I think it was left over from a bridal shower.”

“Jesus.” I eyed the lavender curlicues on the label font and added, “We need to start drinking that so I can stop having to look at it.”

“That’s the plan.” Jeff tossed his backpack and peacoat onto the pile of winter boots and snow pants by the front door, holding his prize aloft. “So is everyone out for the whole night?”

“I don’t know, let me think.” I led Jeff into the kitchen, where I did a mental roundup as I scrounged in cupboards for glassware. Actual champagne flutes seemed kind of, I don’t know, too romantic, so I pulled down a couple of squat juice glasses instead. “Mom and Dad are in New York at some gala with our cousins. Mallory and Vanessa are both at the Ramsays’. Nicky’s doing an all-night...Warcraft raid? Fortnite thing?...with the Hobarts. Margo and Claire have sleepovers with, uh, I don’t actually remember who. And Adam and Jordan both have dates and decided to stop by the drugstore before picking them up, so yeah, I’d be surprised if anyone else got back tonight.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jeff seemed subdued by that. Thoughtful? Disappointed? Probably disappointed—I’d never been the Pike people called for a good time. I knew I worked better as part of a package deal, with Adam and Jordan to lighten me up. I _especially_ knew that now we all went to different schools and I no longer had them to help me seem interesting.

I just took the bottle from him and waited—he wasn’t one to really hold back feelings, and he didn’t now. “Mom and Richard already went to bed, and Mary Anne and Dawn are doing their own thing, and...I’m happy to not be alone all night, I guess.”

I grimaced, and not because I was having trouble opening the wine (there wasn’t even a cork, just a twist-off cap, which was possibly not a great sign?). “Same, honestly. But I know I’m not the most exciting one to be stuck with, so—”

“No, it’s not that,” Jeff said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re perfect.” And of course my stomach twinged happily at that; I really needed to get over my stupid adolescent crush on him, especially since it was such a throwaway comment. He was already continuing, “They say two’s a party, right? We’ll put some music on, have a private dance party.”

“You expect me to dance? Yikes.” I’d started pouring the wine, but doubled back to my glass and added another generous splash.

He put a hand on my elbow, fingers so warm through the thin cotton of my shirt, and I went so still for a moment—preparing to be seduced, I guess—that it was easy for him to tip my arm and force me to pour even more wine, almost to the rim. “I expect you to dance a _lot_.”

*

We toasted to whichever of his sisters’ friends was getting married and provided us the wine, and then, after the first sip tasted like fermented Lemon Pledge, we took the toast back. 

Almost an hour later, neither of had made much of a dent in our glasses, but it was just enough to loosen me up a little. I was half-lying on the couch in the rec room—farther away from the front door, on the off chance Mom and Dad did come home tonight and we had to ditch the wine—my legs curled to the side so Jeff could have room to sit on the other end, my knees just barely brushing against his thigh. He didn’t push me away and I didn’t chicken out and move it, which felt daring (another “most pathetic” contender, probably).

I’d pulled up a random Spotify all-holiday playlist, so stuff like _Thriller_ and _Calender Girl_ kept getting mixed in with Christmas pop and the Maccabeats—not quite the perfect New Year’s soundtrack, but we weren’t dancing to it, thank God. Instead we were trying to get the party started by playing Truth or Dare. Only we hadn’t drunk nearly enough to be into the idea of crank calls or whatever, so it was more like Truth or Truth.

“Um... “ Jeff rested an elbow on the arm of the couch and propped his cheek up on his hand, looking thoughtful. “Okay, when did you realize you’re gay?”

I shifted so I could reproachfully nudge his leg with my toes. “Aren’t these questions supposed to be fun? And anyway, you were there the summer I came out.” It was a few months before sophomore year of high school, and in fact Jeff happened to be present for the dramatic climax of the whole ordeal, when Jordan and Adam and I ended up scream-crying at each other at the park during a shirts-skins soccer game, so I couldn’t imagine he’d forgotten about it.

“I didn’t ask when you came out.” He closed his hand around my ankle and tugged on it playfully—since when were ankles erogenous zones? “I asked when you _realized_.”

“Fine, whatever.” I closed my eyes, trying to remember, but it was like trying to remember when I’d first grown my arms. On some level, it’d always been there.

After a few moments, Jeff said, “If you’re trying to pretend you’ve fallen asleep, you’re really bad at it,” and ran his thumb along the arch of my foot, tickling me. 

I kicked at him reflexively, laughing, “Stop, okay!” He did stop, and when I was sure he wasn’t just lulling me into a false sense of security, I opened my eyes and said, “When I was around twelve, maybe? That was definitely when I realized Adam and Jordan were on the same page about girls—like, actual girls, not just the idea of being cool and having a girlfriend—and I wasn’t.”

“And?” He sounded expectant.

I frowned. “And what?”

Jeff smiled patiently and said, “And then you started noticing the hot guys in your life.”

“There are no hot guys in Stoneybrook.” Which was a lie, but I didn’t want this devolve into the story of the first time I saw Logan Bruno take his shirt off at the pool and then had like ten dreams about us hugging.

“Well, except during the summer. And the holidays.”

I rolled my eyes. “Truth or Dare, weirdo.” I kind of hoped he’d go for a dare—something to distract me from the reminder that he’d be going back to college in California in a few days. Jeff had almost always been a seasonal friend, but I missed him every time he left.

He picked up his sparkling wine, took a sip, and made a disappointed face at the glass. But he still managed to be all gorgeous about it, even more so when he licked the rim anyway. Jeff Schafer could joke and fish for compliments all he wanted, but there was no way he needed to be _told_ he was hot.

Finally, he sighed and said, “Truth.”

I asked the first thing that came into my head, which was, “Uh, what’s your New Year’s resolution?”

“That’s your example of a fun question?” he asked incredulously. 

“It’s on topic!” I protested.

“It’s the beginning of a Planet Fitness ad,” Jeff said, but relented when I jabbed my toes into his leg again. “I don’t know—to be more giving, maybe? I could be a better person, a better friend.”

“You’re a good friend,” I told him, and not just as reassurance. Jeff could be dramatic and overly sharp, and he had a way of effortlessly drawing all the attention in a room, but he was also perceptive and funny, and furiously loyal. I remembered how after the post-soccer screaming match with my brothers, Jeff bought me fries at Burger Town so I could eat my feelings while he let me know in no uncertain terms that Jordan and Adam should go fuck themselves, and how much weight was lifted off my shoulders knowing at least one person was completely on my side.

He’d given me a lot, but I didn’t trust myself to say that without sounding too pathetically grateful, so I just added, “When you feel like it, anyway.”

That made him laugh, though, and bump back against my leg affectionately. “What’s your resolution?”

“To lose my virginity,” I answered, joking but still too quickly, because he just raised his eyebrows at me. When you looked like Jeff, you probably didn’t understand why that even needed to be a resolution. People flung themselves at you, while the really awkward ones just prodded you with their feet. 

I smiled weakly and shrugged. “It’s been my resolution since I was fifteen, so why break an unlucky streak?” 

Jeff just kept looking at me for a long moment, then wet his lips and glanced down at his glass. “Truth or Dare.”

“You just asked me a—”

“That was conversation, not a Truth or Dare,” he interjected, and I didn’t feel like arguing it.

“Fine, Truth.”

He grimaced, still looking down at his drink, and finally said, “Are you dating anyone?”

Oh God, another one of these questions? Why was he trying to embarrass me with sex and relationship stuff? Maybe the depressing combination of holidays and cold weather and bad not-champagne made him mean, and he sensed my desperation like blood in the water. (And this was _without_ him knowing I’d already threatened to start the new year by kissing a dog.) Or maybe girls had been throwing themselves at him all through his first college semester and he’d finally woken up to how he was beautiful and so above Stoneybrook, and me in particular. 

But no, that didn’t seem right. Because first off, Jeff being attractive was not a new concept, to him or to anyone else—even when he was nine and new in town, moody but open to having three new identical friends, I’d thought he was cute, with his bright blue eyes and white-blond hair. It’d darkened to a soft gold as he’d gotten older, and it was falling in his eyes now when he looked up at me, serious and not mocking at all.

So I didn’t know what his deal was, but he wasn’t trying to be a jerk. Which was why I finally, carefully, answered, “I’ve _dated_ someone, but I’m not _dating_ anyone.” 

Jeff blinked once, twice. “Is this a riddle?”

I groaned and clarified, “What I mean is I don’t have a boyfriend or anything, but it’s not like I haven’t been dating at all.” I had, in fact, been on three and a half dates ever (the half was because I wasn’t sure if the other guy really didn’t realize we’d gone out or was just pretending not to). All of them had happened within a couple weeks of each other too—like I said, it was a bad, bad year.

“Okay, but—”

“No more follow-up questions! Truth or Dare,” I interrupted, because I didn’t want this to become a very sad interrogation about my social life and also because, to be fair, those were the rules of Truth or Dare.

Now Jeff turned his disappointed face at me, wrinkling his nose, and it reminded me so much of another Truth or Dare, years ago, when we were just kids and he had been dared to eat a slice of processed cheese, that I couldn’t help but smile. It seemed to startle him into a smile of his own, unsure and soft in a way that made me want to keep looking at him and never stop. 

But I had to stop looking, because he was my friend, the one whose real life was thousands of miles away from here. The one who could have anyone. And even if I couldn’t have him, I could still have my pride.

So I broke eye contact, glancing awkwardly at the clock across the room—almost midnight—as I reminded him, “Truth or Dare, Jeff.”

I heard him take a deep breath before he said, “Truth.”

And I guess I was still thinking about the softness of his smile and wondering—worrying—about it, because I nodded at the drink in his hand; maybe he’d had more than I realized. “Do you like that even a little?”

“No.” He immediately set his glass on the coffee table and, after a moment of consideration, took mine and put it aside as well. Then he shifted to the left one more cushion, closer to me, guiding my legs so they bridged over his lap. Even still, I had to sit up slightly straighter to accommodate his sudden nearness, which seemed like a small price to pay to actually feel his body heat. It’d been a long time since I’d been so physically close to him, since we were kids and sometimes shared a bed during sleepovers, before puberty made things weird.

“Truth or Dare,” Jeff said, but I was so distracted by the fact that I could smell his aftershave—surprisingly strong for how late it was and still citrusy; our wine _wished_ it tasted as good as this smelled—that I barely heard him.

It was sort of occurring to me that stretching out over him, my own lap more or less on display, might end up being extremely embarrassing extremely soon. I squirmed at the thought, and Jeff put a hand on my shin to still me, which somehow didn’t help the situation.

“Uh, Truth,” I finally answered. Focusing on our dumb game might be the only way to keep me from being so humiliated that I had to flee the country.

“Just so I’m clear...” He paused to worry his bottom lip (why was he doing this to me?), his fingers absently sliding up toward my knee (WHY). “There’s no one you’re seeing who—”

I was pretty sure I could actually feel my brain splintering. 

“No!” I burst out. “There’s nobody, okay? Absolutely nobody. No boyfriend, no friend with benefits, no secret admirer, not even any real prospects, and I’m too nervous about being murdered and ending up on Dateline to try Grindr. So thanks for reminding me what a huge, unlikable loser I am and how I’m never, ever going to get to change my resolution. And speaking of”—I jerked a thumb at the clock, which now read 12:03—“Happy New Year.”

There was a long beat of silence while Jeff stared at me, his lips parted in shock. I couldn’t blame him—I’d never been the Pike to vomit all my feelings at the drop of a hat; that was basically the rest of my siblings.

Man. What a way to ring in another bad year.

I just sat rigidly upright and wished for the couch to swallow me whole if only to relieve the awkwardness. His hand was still on my knee.

Eventually I couldn’t stand the overwhelming quiet and started to say, “I’m sor—”

But Jeff broke in with, “ _You’re_ the unlikeable loser?” He sounded incredulous, his voice dripping with it. “I’m the one who’s been trying and _failing_ to put the moves on someone for like an _hour_."

My first thought was _Who?_ , quickly followed by _Wait, what?_ and _Oh my God._ But what I said, weakly, was, “Shut up.” 

Because I hadn’t had nearly enough disgusting rosé to actually believe any of this. Yes, maybe Jeff was being flirtatious, but that’s how he was with everyone (right?), and asking me if I was single in about forty-seven different ways was just teasing (wasn’t it?). And okay, sure, he was _squeezing my knee right now_ , which was definitely something a platonic friend did all the time right after saying outright that he was hitting on you, Byron Pike, the biggest absolute _idiot_.

I didn’t get a chance to say that, though, because instead Jeff murmured, “You shut up,” and kissed me.

It wasn’t my first kiss, but it might as well have been, the way it made the whole world fall away around us. The entire Rose Parade could have marched through the rec room past us, and all I would’ve noticed was how Jeff’s lips were soft despite the dry winter air, how his cheek was surprisingly smooth against mine—oh my God, he’d shaved for me before coming here—and how he let out the smallest, sexiest groan when I let him lick into my mouth almost immediately.

After a few minutes—or maybe just a few seconds; it’s hard to tell in that heady, turned-on place when all you can think about is how good something feels—we broke the kiss to catch our breaths. Somehow, I’d ended up with both my hands buried in Jeff’s hair without even realizing it, and he’d inched his under my shirt, fingers gently stroking up and down my sides. I shivered hard, all my nerves sending belated JEFF IS TOUCHING YOUR SKIN, MAYDAY signals at once, and he wet his lips and blinked owlishly, his pupils wide and dark.

His voice was rough when he said, “We’re a little late on the New Year’s kiss, but that was worth the wait.”

The way he said it, awed and even a bit shaky, just as affected by the kiss as I was, made me want to push him back against the couch and basically climb him like a tree, but I steeled my focus and asked, “This isn’t the fake champagne talking, right?”

He just raised his eyebrows, and I couldn’t blame him. There was barely an inch of wine missing from either of our glasses. So I tried another theory. “Okay, and it’s not part of the ‘being a more giving friend’ resolution thing?”

Because I had to. Even faced with the evidence of a very turned-on Jeff Schafer—turned on by _me_!—and the taste of him still in my mouth, I had to double-check this wasn’t him taking pity on me or something.

He gave me a witheringly look, more the Jeff I recognized again. “I don’t make out with someone just to be nice.”

That was fair, logical. But everything in me still wanted to pick this apart, interrogate him until I found a way for this to make sense to me. The struggle between logic and my anxiety must have shown on my face somehow, because suddenly Jeff was the one looking worried. 

“Did I misread this?” he asked. He pulled his hands out from under my shirt and wet his lips again; I followed the path of his tongue. “This whole winter break I thought maybe we were on the same page about each other—that’s why I decided to go for it when I realized we were alone—but—”

“We are!” I assured him quickly, reaching out to put my hand over his, like I could keep him from fleeing from the room in frustration or something. 

He smiled a little and turned his hand so his fingers could lace with mine. I’d actually never held hands with another guy before, and that the first time was Jeff, my friend, in my family’s worn-out and utterly familiar rec room, made my head spin.

“So I’m just that bad at flirting?” he asked, and he was teasing, but I’d also never seen him so unsure about anything. 

I squeezed his hand. “No, I’m just dumb, I’m an idiot!” I had to force myself not to pick apart every single moment since Jeff had appeared on the porch right then and there. “And I didn’t realize you’re…” I hesitated, not wanting to put words in his mouth. _Gay_ felt comfortable for me but not for everyone.

“Queer?” Jeff finished, answering my unspoken question. “It’s kind of—it’s not a new thing? But I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching about it lately. A lot of thinking.” His smile grew sheepish. “Been thinking about you.”

Okay, wow.

That smile, the line, everything—it made me feel warm all over, right down to the bones, and this time I actually did push him back against the couch and more or less attack his face. 

“This is really happening?” I couldn’t help mumbling against his mouth at one point. “You’re here for _Byron_ , right?”

“Yes! God, you’re the worst,” he laughed, and nipped my bottom lip in a way I hadn’t realized could be amazing. “I promise—this is a Truth.”

We spent a few minutes happily being distracted by each other. This time when we pulled apart, I was halfway into Jeff’s lap and one of his hands was starting to skim down the back of my pants. 

Jeff was a little out of breath, his pale blue eyes uncharacteristically dark, when he pulled his hand away and said, “So, um, your New Year’s resolution...like I said, this isn’t a new thing, but in some ways it sort of feels like it? I don’t know—”

“Now who’s talking in riddles?” I carefully slid off him so we were back to sitting next to each other, a lot more rumpled now, and smiled in a way I hoped was reassuring. “I get it, really. I don’t mind slowing down—I’m not ready to go from zero to sixty either, to be honest.”

“How about zero to thirty?” Jeff murmured hopefully. He reached out to toy with the cuff of my sleeve and ended up sliding his thumb across my pulse point. Ugh, ugh, he was going to kill me—wrist-touches were _not_ supposed to be hot. “For now, anyway.”

I blinked several times to try to refocus. “I—yes, I think I could go for that, definitely.” Now it was my turn to sound hopeful. “I don’t think anyone else’ll be back until tomorrow.”

He grinned. “I always did like Pike sleepovers the best.”

*

The sun was up, but it was still pretty early when I woke in a panic, remembering the wine we’d left in the rec room in our haste to get upstairs. I figured it’d still be a few hours before people started trickling home, but I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until all evidence was taken care of. So I crept quietly out of my and Nicky’s room, leaving Jeff curled up in my bed—we’d shared that and a _lot_ more before finally settling down to sleep just before dawn, though my virginity was still holding on by slightly more than a thread.

But that was okay. I already knew Jeff was worth the wait—I’d been waiting for him for years and just never realized.

Downstairs, all the lights were still off and the house was unnaturally quiet as I tucked the bottle of Love and Lollipops under my arm and dumped the rest of our unfinished drinks down the bathroom sink. After a moment of consideration, I followed it up with five pumps of lavender hand soap, to try to cover the sickly lemon scent.

On the way back up to my room, I heard Pow in the living room, snuffling and stretching as he got out of his own bed, a little stiff-legged as he crossed over to me. It’d be his breakfast time soon, but he didn’t seem too concerned about that yet, his tail simply wagging amiably; in his old age, he avoided going up or down too many stairs and was probably just happy to see someone after a few hours alone. 

I knelt to scratch behind his ears and down the middle of his back, the winter-dry skin he couldn’t reach, just as I knew he liked. He grumbled approvingly deep in his chest, and I broke a smile.

“I think this might actually not be such a bad year, Pow,” I whispered, and kissed the top of his head.

A few minutes later, I was trying to sneak silently back into the bedroom, but as soon as I locked the door behind me, the sheets rustled and Jeff’s sleep-tousled head rose from the pillows. I’d seen him look just like that a dozen times over the years, but this time it was different, just for my eyes.

“Hey,” he murmured, blinking at me sleepily. Needless to say, he was gorgeous, even seconds after waking up. His hair seemed to shine softly in the morning light, and his muscles were lean and toned. Barely visible in the darkened room was a little bruise just under his collarbone, where he could easily hide it if he wanted to. When I gave it to him he’d assured me he didn’t care who saw, but. Well. I’m me. I worried.

I still didn’t know what he might possibly see in me, but maybe I could find out.

“I was just cleaning up,” I said, holding the bottle up for him to see before slipping it into one of my dresser drawers for the time being. “We’re safe.”

Jeff grinned and said, “For now.”

He pulled back the blankets in invitation, and I didn’t hesitate to snuggle in beside him. Our legs and arms tangled, as effortlessly as anything, like we’d done this a hundred times already. Resting his head on my shoulder, he sighed happily, and between that and the warmth of a shared bed and the smell of him all over my sheets, I couldn’t imagine a better way to start a new year.

We only had a few days of whatever this was before our winter breaks ended and we’d both go back to school, all the way across the country from each other, but for once in my life, maybe I didn’t have to worry about what was to come. Maybe I could just memorize this moment of right now and that’d be enough.

But then, into the silence, Jeff suddenly said, “Truth or Dare.”

I raised my eyebrows, but answered, “Truth.” It’d worked pretty well for me recently, after all.

“Do you already have plans for spring break?” He rubbed his calf against mine. “And if so, can you change them?”

I smiled up at the ceiling.

It was definitely going to be a good year.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, foxxcub! I hope you like your gift fic. <3 
> 
> Thanks so much to poisonivory for the beta and encouragement.


End file.
